More Than Skin Colors

oldy

Saw this great piece on Facebook today shared by Bicultural Mama and I was nodding and laughing my behind reading it and knew I MUST blog a more serious spin about the topic.

So here goes…

My son is a ‘product’ of mix marriage. His father – Mr. X is American and I am Indonesian.

A little history background, I’m ‘mixed’ too. Somewhere down the line from my father’s side of the family there was a hint of Dutch yet my father is Ambonese. My mother is Manadonese which means she has very light skins and sometimes people misjudged her as Chinese.

Their ‘products’ are three kids, two of them looks like white/half Caucasian and one of them well just have a dark skin. That dark skinned one would be me.

I remember my father told me the doctors didn’t even believe he is the father after my super ‘white’ brother was born. They had to put him under the UV lights right away because they thought he’s just too white! Go figure!

Here’s an old picture of my father holding my brother. No wonder people used to doubt he is the father! Psst, yes, that was me in my father’s truck.

 

Being the ‘different’ one in the family growing up most people got surprised that the three of us, my brothers and I are related. We used to get teased. We’ve heard it all.

My favorite ‘incident’ was when I was living in this rental ‘boarding house’ with my brother. He just started college in Jakarta and we rented two different rooms in a boarding house. One night, just recently after we moved in, I took him to Hardrock Café with my girlfriend. On our way home back to the house we had to walk in this small alley big enough for just a motorcycle to fit. The next day, we got a report from the housekeeper that one of the neighbors had called our landlord and reported “Hey, that new girl is bringing home a bule* last night!”. We didn’t get in trouble but it was hilarious!

Since I became a mother I has never been more uncomfortable than moving back here. Back in the States even when we were living in a small itty bitty town of Alabama, no one had said any weird comments about Lil’ A. If anything, people told me he’s adorable and most mistakenly thought he’s a girl – thus the abuse of the color blue by me!

My first encounter with unpleasant comments was when I first came home to introduce my then 10 months old baby to my big Indonesian family. At the time my parents were still living in East Borneo a town called Balikpapan. We then flew to Makassar, South Sulawesi to let my Grandmother met Lil’ A.

After we deplaned, we had to take a bus into the airport’s terminal. I was sitting right next to my mother, Lil’ A on my lap, my youngest brother, Danny was to my right. An older lady right in front of my mother smiled, obviously staring at Lil’ A.

Is that your grandson?” the lady said. My mother, the proud grandmother said yes and smiled broadly.  “Yes, that’s his mother” she placed her arm on my shoulder.

Oooh…is that the father?” pointing at my brother who yes, often mistakenly thought as Caucasian. Huh?

That ‘incident’ got all of us laughing but believe me I’ve been on the receiving end of some really annoying inappropriate questions from strangers. From asking if I’m the nanny to saying “He’s so cute, too bad his nose looks just like yours!” S’cuse me? Among other nuisance questionings.

I think Lil’ A looks more like me than anything but of course I am biased! Hopefully he won’t have too much of a hard time growing up in Jakarta being a mix product and NO I do not wish he would throw himself to these whole ‘mixed races bunch of artists’ trend in Jakarta. If that’s what he really wants then we’ll deal with that when he’s 18!

What’s the most annoying remarks people give you if you have a mixed race children? Do share the silliest comment people make about your children.

 

*Bule = Indonesian slang for caucasian

We Are Enough

We Are Enough

Last week was rough.

Partially I’m blaming aunt-you-know-who to bring all these emotional trolls came crawling out of my brain.

I was sullen and my moods were ugly.

Dealing with a Kindergarten boy who is NOT a morning person is not easy – to put it mildly. It’s a daily battle to get him up and ready for school every day. When I’m working I was ‘spared’ from this tug of war as I leave the house very early. My patience is being tested daily! He is just not a morning person and I know it.

Until a few days ago when the boy got home from school, tired and wanted to go to bed and lay down. He said something that felt like a kick.

Mbak is Mommy. I want Mbak! I don’t love Mommy!

Ouchy!

I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me but it did. I refused to let the nanny took over and stood my ground. Meaning I proceeded upstairs with him despite his protests and told him “Even if you don’t love Mommy right now, Mommy loves you more than anyone else.

He eventually said “I’m sorry, Mommy. I love you” and gave me the biggest hugs his body can master. It healed my heart instantly!

But it left me wondering, doubting…it brought me to tears.

Yes, I am not the perfect mother. For almost a year now since I’ve been back to the corporate world, I work long hours but secretly I am happy albeit the famous-working-mom-guilt’s! Being productive outside the house makes me feels good inside.

Yes, I am the strict mom. I put him on timeouts. I yelled – a little too much sometimes and I don’t let him get away with things as much as his spoiling grandmother does. Maybe in his eyes I’m not a fun Mommy, I’m the stern Mommy. He has more fun when he’s with Daddy.

Yes, I am not those moms who packed him bento boxes snacks/lunch nor do I bake the perfect cute cupcakes but I do try to help him with his homework and read to him every day and we still have our bedtime ritual. Just us two.

But I still feel crappy inside…

These thoughts were chewing me inside. He loves having his Mommy home and even said “I want Mommy here when I wake up in the mornings” and by God it feels so damn good to wake up with him in the mornings and have him threw his arms around me and cuddle closer. Going back to work would be hard for both of us.

The guilt transcended deeper than this silly jealousy of his Nanny. I realized I still blamed myself for ending my marriage and split the perfect little world as he knew it and in trying so hard to patch things up, to rebuild a life for ourselves I always felt like I fall short. That I am not good enough mother for him.

Until I saw my boy cuddling up to one of his uncles the other day…

It hits me that I may not be the perfect Mommy but this boy is surrounded with love. His uncles adore and love him tremendously. They give him the much needed roughhousing, the male bonding stuffs. His grandparents love him to pieces – ok maybe grandma dotted on him too much – we’re still trying to strike a balance here.  His Nanny loves him and takes good care of him. His father is in his life and loves him just as much.

I am his mother…with all my flawlessness. I am good enough mother who will fight for him and break my back to give him the good life that he deserves to have. It may not be the fancy life lane that we are both living on but we have enough. He doesn’t have to go to bed on an empty stomach and he have clothes on his back – it may not be the expensive branded stuffs – but we are living enough. One day I hope he can look at his mommy and be proud of all the things she’s trying to do to be good enough and realized that we are good enough.

This post is inspired by Just Be Enough. Seriously, JBE is a truly amazing, inspiring place. My Mondays has never been better thanks to JBE!

Claiming Your Own Path In Life

FamilyIssaMas019

It was around December last year when I ‘stumble’ my way to this lady’s blog – someone was RT-ing her post and that’s how I found her. Christmas gave me the blues and her post Single Moms, You Are NEVER Alone brought me to tears.  Her words speaks right through my bruised heart, her strength are oh so inspiring. So, today I am honored to share with you one of her gem of a post on my blog.

Claiming Your Own Path In Life

by Issa Mas

I know for many people in general, but for single moms in specific, our lives may not be what we pictured they would be. Perhaps you thought you would be married, or in a different career, or in a different town. Maybe you are feeling a bit like a failure, or at the very least, lost and very far removed from the path you had hoped to be on in life. I can, with a deep sigh, relate to that. Ten years ago this is not the life I thought I would be living. In some ways it is a blessing, because I had been living with infertility for the thirteen years prior to having Theo and was so very pained at the idea of never being a mother. In other ways, though, it is profoundly disappointing. Accepting that certain dreams you once had will now probably never come to fruition is difficult. One must go through the process of mourning the loss of those dreams, and accepting what is, to begin to move forward. Not always an easy thing to do, and certainly not a speedy process by any means.

I find that this process of revisiting your hopes and dreams, polishing off the ones that you still have faith in, and laying to rest the ones that have clearly expired, is essential for moving forward in life. It is also essential for claiming new dreams, and finding new paths that will lead you to new experiences. Examining how many of those hopes and dreams were really your own and not instilled in you by the conditioning of family or society, is helpful as well. I, for one, believed that I would always get married – that everyone should get married – and I’ve come to understand that was never truly my dream. That was society telling me that as a female that was an important priority in life (damn you, Disney princess movies!!!). I have come to learn, however, that I don’t truly want that, and that while I do enjoy being in love with (and loved by), a man, marriage is a non-necessity. With that fairly new knowledge, I am able to let go of any “stigma” I felt as a single mother, and as a 37-year-old unmarried woman.

Claiming your own path in life is essential to living authentically, and sadly, so few people fully engage in the process of living authentically. Being authentic can be difficult, isolating, and lead to you being grossly misunderstood. And while living your life (any part of your life), on someone else’s terms may cause the least amount of waves for you, without those waves you’re just floating along in the middle of the ocean, getting nowhere. Make waves! Move forward! Claim your own path! Claim the joy of being true to yourself and watch how life opens to you. I have grown quite unfazed by the waves my authenticity creates. My best friend has told me one of the things she admires about me the most is how little I care about what others think of me. I came to that place slowly, over many years. My motto now?

What others think of me is none of my business. – Dr. Wayne Dyer

Realizing that I cannot possibly please everyone so I’d better at least be content with my decisions in life was something I have more fully grown into over the years, and I like it here just fine. You will, too. Honest.

There may be beliefs that you hold, that upon close examination, may not truly be your own; it will be liberating to not be weighed down by those false beliefs. I myself am still going through the process of pulling up my beliefs and dusting them off to genuinely examine them. Can you identify at least one thing that either was never actually your own belief, or a belief of yours that you have since outgrown? Can you fully let go of that “belief”? If so, how does that feel? I’d love to know!

Issa M. Mas is a born and bred New Yorker in the midst of her next big adventure, Single Mommyhood! This Single Mama is busy trying to balance raising her three year old, a career as a freelance writer, and staying fabulous, all at the same time.  You can find Issa on Twitter at @IssaMas, and at her blog Single Mama NYC (http://singlemamanyc.com).

A Day in The Life

Morning has broken

She woke up before her alarm beeping…as usual. It was 4:30 in the morning and it is still dark outside.

Quietly she moved that little feet that pushed her back before she got out of bed. Splashed some water on her tired face she then proceed downstairs…creeping slowly.

Make herself one of those yucky instant coffee because she cannot afford a real coffee maker – plus she can’t find her beloved liquid creamer in store.

She then sat by her computer desk. Boot up the old-quickly-overheated-then-shut-down-by-itself-laptop to play her morning tunes.

She reached for her bible then started her ritual.

By 5 she took a shower, made a second cup of instant coffee. Creep back upstairs, turned the reading lamp down low just so she can see in the darkness. Picked a shirt and short for the boy to wear to school, picked what to wear to work.

Got his little backpack ready. Checked his Parents Communication book to make sure she doesn’t miss a thing. Got his snack packed.

She then prepped herself up for work.

By 6 she’s on the road…with her faithful father driving her to work way earlier than most of her colleagues. She usually got to work at 6:30 – depends on the traffic – usually before 7.

Her office would still be dark, the cleaning service kid swiping the floor and greeted her “Good morning, Mbak.” She unlocks the door with the sign “Authorized Person Only”. She’ll turn her computer up, sending out text messages to her boss, reminding him of his appointments of the day.

Due to time differences, she usually already has gotten some emails waiting on her inbox.

People to fly, tickets and hotels to book, designated drivers to pick up the managers, documents to scanned, documents to file, travel related invoices that needs to be work on, these are just tiny frictions of her daily routines now.

It may not sounds much but there is always something.

Usually she tries to leave work on time by 4 just so she can have some times to spend with the boy waiting at home. But sometimes that’s not the case and she had to stay longer and then she’ll be at the mercy of traffic.

With her son in school, he goes to bed at 8pm and she will be lucky if she can get home by 6 just to spend 2 hours of cuddle times. So it breaks her heart when her son prefers the nanny…

After spending a whole day glued to her computer at work, she comes home exhausted. Her eyes tired and heavy. Oh she still gets online and tweeted when she can but to sit down and enjoy reading the blogs she love has become a luxury she can’t afford lately.

She had stopped checking her blog’s status. What’s a google analytics again?

When she’s not working Saturday, she will spend the day being a full mommy and send the nanny home. Nanny goes home every weekend anyway but usually on Sunday when she have to work Saturday.

She is exhausted…

She tries to enjoy life again by hanging out with friends when she can but she then feels guilty for not spending that time with her boy.

She barely has time to just sit and stop to think anymore. She’s like a machine that have to make money to make ends meet and trying so hard to be there for her son.

Clearly 24 hours a day is not enough in her life.

She started to drop a thing or two because her hands simply cannot possibly juggle it all. Blogging had sadly slipped away from her fingers. She feels like a stranger in Twitterville because she can’t follow some of the conversations, she had lost track of the blogging trends. She feels like a stranger standing amongst other parents in her son’s school. She feels like a bad parent when she can’t come to every single school’s events. Her DSLR camera is now just sitting collecting dust while she can only manage to take pictures with her cell phone.

She is overwhelmed…

She may not be hopping around the blogsphere much but she surely misses it and thanking everyone who stick by her even when Twitter has become her way to stay connected.

On Letting Go

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That day has come…

Where I nervously pack his bag…pick which shirt and short to wear…

The day I was swept by mixture of emotions (maybe) only mothers can truly understands. Part of me is proud seeing this boy embark on a new journey, a huge milestone in his life, thrilled to hear about his adventure in that place. Yet, I was swept away with sadness.

Yes, sadness…

It started a day before, when my parents and I took him to get his hair trimmed. Well, it went on beyond it. We pretty much let his curls got chopped off. Those cute precious soft curls that has been on his tiny head for 2 years!

In an instant…my tot loses his ‘babyish’ look, in an instant I miss those annoying curls.

How is it possible for a four years old to suddenly look all grown up? No one ever warned me about this. He’s my baby…my pumpkin! Yet, he’s no longer a baby. Lil’ A is almost too big to be called Little anymore.

So on that morning when we stepped into a new territory where he will be spending times playing, learning, socializing for the next few years…you could almost see my heart dragging behind my steps.

I had kept him to myself for four years…and now I had to peel myself away from him – at least for a few hours. This was even harder than leaving him when I started working full time.

My worry wart Mommy self kicked in when I saw him crying at first because it’s all new and he wanted his Mommy to stay in his classroom.

Maybe he’s not ready!” worry wart Mommy chipped in “Let’s just take him home…” she continues to terrorizing me while the try-to-be-wise-Mommy- in me said “Do NOT hover!!! He’s fine!

Had to fight my tears when I was in the principal’s office,  as she must’ve sensed my nervousness and tried to assured me that Lil’ A will be fine.

It was a pure mixed up emotions all rolled into one.

Letting him go into that classroom is like opening the door and setting him out by himself to discover the world for the very first time.

This Mommy definitely needs to toughen up and be on the sideline like any other good mother and not being a helicopter parent.

How was your kid’s first day of school like? But most importantly, how did you handled it?

Celebrating Motherhood – The 4th Year

First Time We "Met"

Here I sit wiping my eyes after replaying the video of Lil’ A’s first entrance into this world. It’s around this time of the year where I got all emotional and mushy inside remembering that one cold day on December 7th.

The day I was so scared to death, the day I plunged into Motherhood in an unexpected way – well sort of unexpectedly – thanks to my severe preeclampsia.

After 4 weeks of being bed ridden, countless of ultrasounds – at least I got to see the little peanut a lot more than most prego mama does – countless of doctor visits. I knew he was supposed to be born early.

Still, I was nervous as hell after my obygyn said we are running out of weeks…he must be born during my 35 weeks visit or I might jeopardize my own life and that baby’s life as my blood pressure kept creeping up to a very dangerously high numbers. The doctor was worried I might get seizure at any rate. Funny enough I was called his magical patient since I had no other symptoms than the obvious super high blood pressure, mild headache and leaking of protein in my urine. There was no swelling at all!

Normal birth was out of the question as the doc explained it would be way too risky.

I nearly had a panic attack!

We haven’t even picked a name yet – yes we discussed some options but nothing was really settled! The crib was still in its box…we had no preemie outfits…the house isn’t thoroughly cleaned to welcome this baby…my dog hasn’t been bathed!

Then threw in those motherly scares of how is he going to be being born 5 weeks early? How am I going to care for such a small baby? What if I dropped him?

No time to find all the answers…5 o’clock PM sharp I was rolled into the operating room.  Bent down and had that big giant epidural needle inserted on my back to numb me from the waist down.  That alone hurts like hell!

The scare doesn’t stop there. After my obygyn, Dr. Richards said “Are you guys ready?” there was only silence…there was no cries…there was nothing but shoving and pushing on my big tummy. Yes, I can feel them pushing! One nurse rushed to my side – whispered something to the other nurse that watches my oxygen before they started pushing my stomach from my side. I felt nauseous and worry I might threw up.

That was the longest 15 minutes of my life…

What went wrong? What’s going on? Did the nurse supposed to push my stomach from my side? Is my baby OK? Why is he not crying? From all the baby stories I watched on TLC and Discovery channels they suppose to cry!

After what seemed like an eternity that big loud cries finally filled the cold room!

Tears rolled down my face…my arms twitched to hold him…my baby has ‘arrived’.

The good doctor rushed to my side after the nurse whisked Lil’ A to the pediatrician. He explained that Lil’ A turned out to be bigger than he predicted. The incision wasn’t big enough and the way Lil’ A positioned himself caused him to use a vacuum.

The scares didn’t stop there.

Although his APGAR score was excellent and weighing in at 6.5lbs – pretty big for a preemie – he had breathing problems.  I just felt cheated when they had to take him to NICU immediately before I could even touch or kiss him.

Wanting to breastfeed, my nurse waited till I can wiggle my toes before telling me to sat up and handed me this ugly looking machine called breast pumps. She said if I don’t pump now my body might think the baby died and dry out my milk supply.  So there I leaned on the hospital bed pumping and tried not to cry from the pain.

It wasn’t until after 9PM that night when the nurse pushed my bed to NICU.

That was not how I pictured meeting my baby would be like! Wires sticking on him like he’s a tiny robot. His tiny chest heaving, a little oxygen hood covering his head…it was a scene that simply broke my heart. Not being able to hold him made me felt so helpless. Wish it was me who got poked  and prodded, wish I can take his pain away…

All I could do that night after he was born was touching his tiny little hand…whispering “hang in there…baby…Mommy’s here” while my sight got blurred.

Then he opened his little eyes and looked straight at me…he was beautiful, he looks perfect to me. My heart yearns to hold him, to kiss him.

It wasn’t until the third day that I can finally do all that…and it wasn’t until a week after he was born where we both brace the joyride of motherhood and babyhood.

It wasn’t easy…I felt betrayed by that ugly disease, I was depressed but not knowing what the heck was wrong with me.

There were days where I felt like I’ve been robbed from that experience of child birth most moms had but seeing how healthy and smart my little boy is…I would have them cut me open a million times just to have him in my life forever.

His arrival and first few weeks of life might’ve been scary and unplanned for but he was the best gift God has trust me enough with.

Tomorrow, not only I’m celebrating his birthday but also saluting myself for this lifetime journey of motherhood and how I had survived for 4 years long. I may not be the perfect mother, but in my imperfections my love for him will remain through eternity.

Happy 4th Birthday, Lil’ A…you maybe too big for Mommy to carry you but she will always carry you in her heart forever.

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